


In the stillness of remembering what you had (and what you lost)

by tryalittlejoytomorrow



Series: Whatever happens here, we remain [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Family, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, each of them dealing with it in different ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryalittlejoytomorrow/pseuds/tryalittlejoytomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch struggle with learning how to deal with what they lost, as they make their journey to living in the newfound peace. </p>
<p>(Post-Mockingjay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the stillness of remembering what you had (and what you lost)

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my collection of stories about these three being a family and slowly rebuilding their lives after the war.
> 
> Title from Gabrielle Aplin & Bastille's Dreams.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The sun persists in rising, but she can’t. She’s here and _she’s_ not, and the warmth and the golden glow are not enough to melt the ice around her heart. The curtains are drawn, the bedroom filled with darkness and despair, and Katniss presses her eyes shut firmly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she silently prays she could just disappear.

 

On those mornings, she makes a list of every single person she killed.

 

When Peeta tries to be there for her, she shuts him out. If Annie has to live without the love of her life, if Prim won’t ever be a doctor, then she doesn’t deserve the arms that hold her and ward off nightmares that only are vivid reminders of the pain she’s caused around her.

 

* * *

 

His breathing is fast, his nostrils flaring as he tries to calm himself down, but can’t. There’s not even that much blood, but Katniss is holding a knife and a dead rabbit in her hands and she’s a killer and this is who she’ll always _be_ and she’s there to finish him off like she’s planned to all along.

 

“Peeta?” Katniss asks softly, noticing the sudden change in his demeanor. His knuckles are white from clenching on the back of the chair, blood gushing from his teeth digging in his bottom lip and dripping down his chin. “Oh no, Peeta,” she repeats in a broken whisper, guilt and anger and fear, not for herself but _for_ him. She drops the knife in the sink before grabbing his face in her hands, touching her forehead to his. “I hurt you before we went into the arena, I made you bleed. I thought you were helping the Careers, and I tried to kill you all. It was my fault if you lost your leg,” she recounts, fresh tears rolling down both their faces. “I couldn’t warn you about the force field in time. I lost you, and they took you…”

 

He kisses her or she kisses him, it doesn’t matter. There’s blood on his face from her dirty hands and blood on her lips from his meshing with hers and this will probably never stop; there will always be moments when he finally sees her for who she really is and she’s scared out of her mind that he’ll leave her because everything she touches, she destroys.

 

No matter how many times she tells him _not real_ , it’ll never be true. Perhaps she didn’t do the things that Snow tried to make him believe she did, but she did so much worse, and his nightmares feed from all the blood she’s shed.

 

She can still feel his hands closing around her throat when she closes her eyes, and Katniss wonders if, for his sake, things wouldn’t have been better if no one had restrained him on that day.

 

* * *

 

Katniss hunts. Peeta bakes. Haymitch drinks.

 

They thought he would eventually dial it down, if not stop completely, but Katniss hunts and Peeta bakes and Haymitch drinks; it’s his _thing_. That’s how he survives.

 

After the night he tells them about his little brother, he drinks to oblivion and only wakes up thirty-six hours later with a heavy weight on his chest.

 

The girl on fire, pleading him not to _ever_ die.

 

* * *

 

The first spring the primroses bloom, Katniss breaks down in the yard, crying incoherently about beauty and death as she plucks the yellow blossoms and holds them to her chest, inhaling their sweet scent deeply, almost recognizing Prim’s innocence and light and joy in them.

 

* * *

 

“What are we doing?” Peeta asks her one day as they wash the dishes.

 

Her trademark scowl reaches Katniss’ brow before she can shrug it off with a smile. “What do you mean?” she asks, fooling no one. She bumps his hip with hers before reaching for the next dish.

 

Peeta sighs, tired and annoyed. Mostly tired. He doesn’t only remember loving her now – he _does –_ and he knows that she’s scared and confused but there’s no mistaking Katniss’ feelings when she wraps herself around him as if she wanted to get lost in him, or when her hand finds his as they walk; all the little things she does for him when she thinks he doesn’t notice it, like making sure to clean herself before coming home after her hunt or letting her hair down because he likes it better that way.

 

He’s tired of pretending that he doesn’t want more.

 

He’s tired of pretending that playing house is enough.

 

Katniss frowns again, and he hates that frown because she’s doing so much better and he shouldn’t be aggravating her with things that will upset her. “It’s beautiful outside,” he says simply, laying his palm over her hip as he draws her in his arms. Katniss gives him a smile, and _this_ is a lot – it’s more than enough. “The dishes can wait. Let’s go out for a walk.”

 

He takes her hand and she giggles when he presses her against a tree, then moans when he leans down for a kiss.

 

Peeta wonders when was the last time he felt so young.

 

And maybe eighteen is both too young and too old to worry about anything but the present.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch’s happy for them, he really is; at least, as happy as he can be when he’s not feeling so numb and dull that he hardly remembers his own name.

 

The boy hasn’t had an episode in more than five months. The girl wears sundresses and her hair down. There are nights when the only sound outside is the song of nature, instead of their screams of agony.

 

Things are good.

 

So why is he _still_ here? Why does he _have_ to be?

 

“We can’t lose you,” Peeta says in a gentle voice as he holds a damp cloth to his burning forehead. He doesn’t lecture him about his drinking, or the poor state of his house. He doesn’t go on about how he’s supposed to be their mentor, so Haymitch doesn’t even have to argue about how guiding them into wedding bliss was never part of the deal.

 

Peeta just takes care of him, and later, Katniss brings in rabbit stew and fresh bread.

 

She’s just the perfect weight as she lies beside him, her head resting over his old, drunk, stupid heart.

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t know a single thing about being human after all that happened. She’s been a bird of prey, the rebels’ Mockingjay; the darling of the Capitol, the girl on fire, a mutt in Peeta’s hijacked mind.

 

So how can she be expected to be someone’s _wife_?

 

Peeta’s just so naturally good at this, it angers her even more. Not with him – _never with him_. He makes the bad things bearable, he makes everything worth fighting for; she wants to _live_ with him, for him, and not just survive anymore. But she doesn’t know how to love someone without loving them too much; she doesn’t know how to relax in his arms without fighting the urge to wrap hers around him to shield him from the rest of the world.

 

She’s a saint and a sinner, a child and a mother – but not quite the wife he deserves to have.

 

Katniss hates herself as much as Peeta loves her.

 

* * *

 

A customer tells him that his father would have been proud of the man he’s become, and Peeta closes the bakery for the day.

 

A day turns into a week.

 

He paints frantically until they’re all here with him again.

 

* * *

 

Effie comes. They hear the telltale sound of her heels on the graveled path leading to the Victors’ Village before they can spot her extravagant hairstyle or flashy outfit.

 

She kisses Katniss and Peeta on both cheeks, and says something about what they’ve done with the house and Katniss’ hair, silly things that sound like love and longing. She keeps touching them, brushing manicured hands against arms and shoulders, as if she couldn’t believe that they’re still here – her victors, _her children_.

 

Haymitch’s sitting on his porch, bottle in hand and watching over his geese. He makes no effort to stand up or come over to say hello.

 

She literally knocks him out with the strength of the hug she gives him.

 

He slurs and yells and smiles.

 

* * *

 

Katniss wakes up one morning and realizes that there’s no longer an ache where her heart used to be.

 

She thinks of Prim, and remembers her beauty and her strength. She can think of Finnick without feeling a wave of guilt overwhelm her; his and Annie’s son is kind and sweet and the perfect combination of both of them and she knows he’ll be loved and happy. Cinna would be proud of her for going to hell and back.

 

“Hey,” Peeta says softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before leaning down to kiss her. “Someone looks happy,” he adds, his eyes sparking.

 

She is.

 

* * *

 

Delly comes and visits them.

 

Peeta greets her at the train station, and she barely has time to say hello that he’s spinning her in his arms. “I missed you,” he tells her as he holds her close, her golden curls tickling his skin as he tucks her head beneath his chin.

 

“I missed you, too,” Delly beams, hooking her arm around his as they take off.

 

They talk about everything and nothing at the same time on the way home, and Peeta realizes that life moves on and change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. He’s stood still for a long time, wanting more but afraid of changing, but in spite of the pain of having and losing, there’s a sweet longing to remembering.

 

* * *

 

There are good days; but liquor makes him forget about them when bad ones hit with full force.

 

Haymitch locks all the bottles in a cabinet and runs to their house before he can change his mind. “Here, keep this,” he tells Peeta as he puts a key in his hand. Katniss looks up from the kitchen table, too sleepy to say anything, and Peeta just nods.

 

“You want some breakfast?” he asks Haymitch, already placing another plate on the table before sitting down himself.

 

Haymitch nods, and sits, too.

 

* * *

 

She tries to stop thinking in terms of what could or should have been.

 

Prim and her father are dead, but her mother is still here.

 

Katniss calls her and invites her over.

 

* * *

 

“I hope you and Katniss will be blessed soon,” one of his employees tells Peeta after the birth of his first child, “so our little ones can play together.”

 

Peeta smiles and pats him on the shoulder, congratulating him again. He’s elated for his friend, but years have come and gone and although Katniss has made so much progress, she still resolutely says no to the idea of having a baby.

 

It hurt back then, but he could understand.

 

It’s getting harder, though.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the deal with the geese?” Katniss asks him one day as they sit on the porch, watching Peeta single-handedly building the henhouse Haymitch asked him to help him with.

 

Haymitch shrugs, slowly sipping the rest of his beer. “They don’t come bother me about marital advice all the damn time, sweetheart,” he smirks. “And I don’t have to hear them go at it like rabbits, either.”

 

Katniss stomps out, furious and embarrassed, and grabs Peeta by the arm. His eyes go from his mentor to his wife, from her red cheeks to Haymitch’s cocky smirk, and Peeta shrugs, dropping his tools and following her.

 

Haymitch barks a laugh, spitting half his beer in the process.

 

It’s a good day.

 

* * *

 

He lays a hand protectively over her stomach at night, lingers there when he kisses his way down her body, and Katniss knows that he’s longing for something she can never give him.

 

She remembers holding Prim as a baby for the first time, and thinking that she was so fragile and small.

 

She can’t do that again, opening her heart again only to risk losing someone she loves more than anything.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs in the dark of their bedroom, to both the living and the dead, for not being brave enough.

 

* * *

 

They have a big fight, and Peeta waits for the flashbacks to hit him, anticipating them as he grabs the kitchen counter to ground himself.

 

They never come.

 

This fight is about _them_ , not about anything Snow tried to put in his mind – and _that’s_ what makes it so scary. For years, he’s tried to grow acclimated to things that triggered his episodes, but nothing could ever prepare him for a regular fight with his wife.

 

“You’re not having an episode,” Katniss tells him, tears welling in her eyes that she stubbornly refuses to let flow. “ _You_ hate _me_ ,” she finishes in a whisper.

 

“I don’t!” Peeta shouts, slamming his fist on the counter. “Don’t you see?” he asks angrily, taking a step towards her, and another until he has her pinned against the wall, his hands braced on each side of her head. “I don’t! Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m hurt. That’s what _normal_ people do. They _feel_ things. They fight. They disagree. It doesn’t mean I hate you.”

 

“But I’m –“

 

“But you’re stubborn, and you don’t like being proven wrong, I know,” he replies, his voice back to that soft tone as he touches her forehead with his. “You think you can’t do this, right?” he asks gently. When she shakes her head no, he lets out a soft chuckle. “You can be so blind sometimes, Katniss.”

 

Katniss frowns, and tries to cross her arms over her chest but realizes she can’t because of his body pinning hers. Instead, she wraps them around his back, pressing him closer. “I hate fighting,” she admits in a low voice.

 

“Then stop fighting me,” Peeta says. “Fight _with_ me, not against me.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

 

He drops a kiss to her forehead before taking a step back. “No one ever said it had to be this hard.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t mentor you though that one, kid,” Haymitch says, humoring Peeta when he’s the one trembling like a leaf. For all his bravado during Katniss’ pregnancy, all the teasing and mocking, dealing with a newborn is _not_ something Haymitch has any experience in.

 

He can’t think of holding his baby brother without wanting to rip off the cabinet key Peeta wears around his neck and go empty all his liquor, and he’s sworn to himself that he would _never_ be drunk around this child.

 

He’s already done its parents so much wrong.

 

When Peeta puts the baby girl in his arms hours later and thanks him for everything he’s done for them, Haymitch doesn’t even know what he’s talking about.

 

Quite frankly, he doesn’t care.

 

She’s hope in the darkness, and though he knows nothing about parenting, there’s one thing Haymitch is an expert at: making sure nothing happens to this little girl.

 

* * *

 

She balances the baby in one arm as she holds their book in her free hand, showing the one year-old the pictures her father painted. The beauty of her aunt Prim, the kindness in both her grandfathers’ eyes.

 

Katniss knows now that there is always some madness in love; people have to be mad, to allow themselves to love others and give them the power to bring them to their knees or lift them up where they belong.

 

But as she holds her daughter against her, the child she was so afraid of bringing to this world of doom and death, she realizes that Peeta was right, as he usually is.

 

She could be so blind sometimes.

 

* * *

 

Peeta spent months writing lists with Dr. Aurelius.

 

Lists of reasons why he loved Katniss, or why he could trust her. The things his father did to lighten up the mood in their household. Things of incommensurable beauty, or infinite sadness. Memories that made him smile; those that triggered episodes. The drawers in the kitchen or their bedroom were full of them.

 

Now, they’re full of his children’s drawings. Every time he feels himself slip into the darkest corner of his mind, they’re what brings him home.

 

* * *

 

He breaks his vow the day she turns twelve.

 

The memories are just too vivid, the pain overwhelming; Haymitch looks at her and all he sees is the hundreds of kids who died before her parents were even born.

 

He spends the day locked in his house with his liquor.

 

The day after, he’s woken up by dark curls tickling his chin as the girl hugs him while her brother embellishes a gag at the state of his den. Katniss scowls at him from the front door, and Peeta starts cleaning around.

 

“You need to stop drinking, Haymitch,” the girls tells him, her mother’s scowl on her young face, her father’s serious yet gentle tone, and something uniquely hers.

 

He never touches alcohol again until his very last day.

 

* * *

 

In the stillness of remembering what they had and what they lost, they find the strength to move on and make new memories.

 

* * *

 

_the end_

 

 

 


End file.
